


if i could dream i had teeth like a tiger

by tinypi



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: M/M, Mary has to take him under her wing OBVIOUSLY, Robert is sad, Robert/Dadsona gets hinted at, Robert/Joseph is mostly referenced, other dads and kids are around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 21:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11654904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypi/pseuds/tinypi
Summary: “So,” Mary says, a solid three minutes after she started ringing the doorbell, “I hear my husband is gonna leave me for you.”





	if i could dream i had teeth like a tiger

**Author's Note:**

> Some ideas on what happened between Robert, Joseph, and Mary, based on lines of dialogue and hints strewn throughout the game.
> 
> Since you cannot actually achieve the cult ending in the normal game right now, I don't consider any of those bits canon and they won't be making appearances in this fic. That being said, Joseph is still very much a bad dude in this so if you're a fan of that mayo ass this story might not be your thing.
> 
> Title taken from Begonias "I Don't Wanna (Love U)"

“So,” Mary says, a solid three minutes after she started ringing the doorbell, “I hear my husband is gonna leave me for you.”

The guy - Robert, she’s met him, she’s _talked_ to him - looks fucking lost. It’s 3 AM and Mary would bet a sizable stack of bills on him being in that sweet spot of booze that leaves you both on the tail end of drunk and in the beginning of a massive hangover. Not that she necessarily needs to add gambling to her repertoire.

Robert gapes, blushes, stutters, a cute mess in his boxers and sleep tousled-hair and what the hell, she might as well take some pity on him.

“Hey Small…s,” she pushes her way into his house, baby monitor in hand. “Got any wine?”

Before Robert is able to formulate a sensible reply she spots a few bottles of decent-ish looking wine next to an enormous shelf of movies. What a nerd.

“...what,” Robert finally mumbles after she’s taken a bottle towards the kitchen to search for a corkscrew. She’s only recently stopped breastfeeding Crish and alcohol has proven itself a grateful and welcoming friend once more. Robert’s place is a mess of cigarettes and alcohol and just stuff lying _everywhere_ but Mary guesses that’s what happens when you live alone with nothing but a dead wife and illicit affair to keep your mind occupied.

“Let’s keep things clear,” Mary calls out towards his general direction as she’s forced to pour wine in what is clearly a pint glass because apparently Robert doesn’t own any wine glasses, the heathen. “I don’t despise you for banging my husband, or anything like that. I’m just using the annual father-children camping trip to warn you to get out while you still can.”

“What are you even on about, lady,” Robert says as he stalks into the kitchen, gruff and clearly trying to keep it together, despite- god-

“You literally just put on one of Joseph’s sweaters,” Mary points out and takes a long sip of wine.

Robert glares at her.

“I get it, Smalls, he’s charming or whatever. He probably says we’re on the verge of breaking up, just _give him some more time_ … right? Take a shot if I’m getting close?”

He doesn’t reply, but his eyes darting to the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter are answer enough.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Another sip.

“What, you hold sole ownership of him? Won’t let him leave the pretty pastel house?” Robert stalks towards her, seemingly angry now. She’d be afraid if she was not also bone-tired.

Mary snorts. “I wish. It’s more a case of him liking the Youth Minister With a Perfect Little Family lifestyle too much to ever leave it behind. Trust me, even if he had more of a use for you than just some midnight sex on that fucking yacht, he’d never risk his stupid status for that.”

“How would you know, huh,” he replies, scathing with hurt, “Hell, if you hate him so much, why don’t _you_ leave him?”

It’s her turn to glare. “Oh, hey,” she says brightly, brushing past him and returning to the living room, “is this an obviously aged picture of you and your super estranged daughter?”

Robert tenses and deflates within two seconds. He cares about his kid, then, which is good. It means he’ll get it, get her.

He follows her into the room, leaving a calculated distance between them. Huh. Is he that touch-averse? Does he think she’ll try to hit him? No, no- she’s a reminder. An already uncomfortable reminder of what lies in his future, a messy, sad, drunken break-up on his end and an annoying inconvenience for Joseph.

“It sucks,” she says, trying to really drive her point home, “but that’s life for you.” Mary carefully chooses the least gross-looking glass on the coffee table, pouring some wine into it. She sinks onto the couch and wordlessly offers the glass to Robert, who reluctantly sits down next to her.

With the admittedly few details of his life that Mary knows, she’s impressed that it takes him a whole hour before he begins to cry silently. They don’t exchange another word until she leaves at six, careful to avoid Craig out on his morning run.

 

\---

 

It’s a little over a month later that Mary sees more of Robert than just him stumbling out of the house and into a bar every now and again. She knows he took her advice and ended the affair, as evidenced by Joseph shaking his head over the Dadbook messages he checked after the camping trip. He spent a few days after that mildly annoyed. Never angry, because Joseph doesn’t really… do big emotions.

Mat’s finally opening up that coffee shop he always talks about, which will admittedly fit into the neighbourhood quite well and he’s decided to invite the entire cul-de-sac in for a little party the evening before the shop officially opens.

Most of the parents and children are here, the only notable absence being Craig’s freshly separated wife as well as his kids, presumably with their mother for the weekend. They make their rounds through the cozy shop, greeting everyone, admiring Mat’s vinyl collection, Joseph laughing at a few bad jokes, Mat sneaking her an Irish Coffee, _bless that man_ , and it’s not until she finds herself in the middle of teaching Lucien, Carmensita, and Daisy how to properly hold a baby that Robert walks in, a little subdued, a little gloomy, but hey, he’s making an effort.

Mat excuses himself from his conversation with Hugo about some poem involving coffee spoons and goes to greet Robert. It’s an awful thing to admit or even think, but the neighbourhood dads have definitely gotten better at relating and talking to Robert since his wife died. Before, they were that weird couple who drank because they didn’t know how to even talk to each other anymore, but now Robert is a widower who doesn’t know any other way to grief. It’s something the other guys understand, sort of.

Mat skips most of the pleasantries he knows Robert hates and goes right into discussing something called _Ladri di biciclette_ , which seems to involve sad poor Italian people stealing bikes. Hugo joins them, because of course he knows what they’re talking about, the fucking nerd, and Robert actually seems to relax and enjoy himself.

And then Joseph walks over.

He _does_ do all the pleasantries, all of the _It’s been a while_ ’s and _What have you been up to?_ ’s and Mary can’t even tell if he’s doing it on purpose or if the polite schtick is so ingrained in him that he genuinely doesn’t notice the wave of awkwardness that emanates from the Nerd Trio.

“Um, uh, Mrs- Mary?” Lucien says next to her, helplessly staring at Crish in his arms, who has finally decided that he finds Lucien’s eyeliner to be less fascinating and more scary and is slowly but surely building his way to a decent wail.

“Oh, here,” she says, holding out her arms for Lucien to deposit the crying baby into.  

“Joseph,” she drawls as she walks over to the group, sickeningly sweet, “you’re so good at getting him to calm down. Would you take him for a little walk?”

“Of course,” Joseph says, easily excusing himself from the surrounding fathers to take Crish outside.

“Anyway,” she says, watching Joseph disappear around the corner and pressing her half-drunk Irish Coffee into Robert’s hands, “what’s that about bike theft?”

Hugo and Mat practically fall over themselves trying to explain the plot and background of whatever movie they were geeking out about to her, dipping into the original Italian script on occasion and referencing at least five presumably similar works. Robert carefully sniffs at the mug she gave to him, then downs it with a relieved smile.

And so the evening passes in a smooth fashion. Robert listens to Damien talk about taxidermy, plays with the Harding’s corgi and vengefully picks Lesley Gore’s _You Don’t Own Me_ from Mat’s vinyl collection when Joseph returns from his evening stroll. Hell, Mary’s damn near proud of the guy, so she decides to throw him a bone and scribbles the shelter’s address onto a piece of paper for him.

“Come by tomorrow.” She winks at him as Joseph bundles up the exhausted kids to leave. Robert looks mostly confused but also a little challenged, which wasn’t exactly her intention but if it works towards him actually stopping by, she’s not complaining.

 

\---

 

“This is an animal shelter,” Robert says as he walks through the door of the animal shelter.

“Good eye. You’ll ace that detective exam in no time.”

He hesitates, then walks up to the counter, lowering his voice. “Look, if this is about- uh- I broke things off, okay, I’m not-”

“Robert!” Damien calls from somewhere behind her. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before, are you looking to adopt?”

Robert squints at Damien, clearly trying to place him. Mary can’t really fault him for that, Damien sans goth cloak and make-up is a very different sight from the usual. “.....Nice glasses,” Robert finally decides on when the shoe drops, which earns him some more Mary Bonus Points.

“Thank you,” Damien replies with a sheepish smile, “I’m afraid I have to take my leave now, Mary. I promised Lucien that I would pick him up after school.”

“See ya, Dames,” she calls after him, Robert mumbling some sort of goodbye as well as Damien leaves with a last wave.

“Jeez kiddo, ease up on the butt clench, I’m not gonna scratch your eyes out.”

“Then what’s your plan here?” He smirks half-heartedly. “I’ll have you know that my shoes repel quick-setting cement.”

“Tsk, that’s kid stuff. I’d knock you out with horse tranquilizer and sick Bull on you, make him eat your organs while you’re awake enough to witness it but not awake enough to escape.” She nods at Bull, a Shiba Inu puppy of four months who perks up at the mention of his name and whuffles happily.

“What if I’m immune to horse tranquilizer?”

“I guess the baseball bat behind this counter will have to do.”

Robert is grinning now and lets out a startled laugh. “Alright, what am I actually here for, despite getting brutally murdered.”

“Oh, easy,” Mary says, beckoning him towards the back where most of the animals reside. “I’m gonna reintroduce happiness into your life.”

Robert snorts. “Good fucking luck.”

“And we’re gonna start,” she gleefully ignores him, “with a pet. You a dog or cat person?”

“Neither.”

“Please, I’ve seen you with that Corgi. Dog, then. Any specific favourites?”

“...not particularly,” Robert gruffs out after a pause, eyes going soft at the sight of the dogs excitedly scratching at their cages when they enter the room.

Robert takes his time intently looking at each and every one of the dogs, asking to lift some out of their cages and hold them, requesting the exact background story of others and coming up with his own one if he doesn’t like it. Finally, they arrive at a cage that holds two sleeping Boston Terrier puppies.

“Some asshole dropped his dog’s half-starved litter at our door two weeks ago. One of ‘em didn’t make it,” Mary spits out. “If I ever fucking find out-”

“That one,” Robert says, points to the puppy sleeping on top of its sibling. “Protective instincts and it sleeps. Perfect.”

“Her name’s Betsy,” Mary says as she carefully extracts the near-comatose dog and hands her to Robert, who nestles the Terrier into the crook of his arm like she was born to sleep there.

“Solid name,” Robert nods. “Where do I sign?”

 

\---

 

“Hey Neil,” Mary says, sauntering into the bar and glad to find that Robert took her up on the  invitation and is already seated at the bar, “someone’s smashed your sign again.”

“Aw, man,” Neil pouts while pouring her standard glass of wine, “which part is it this time?”

“Just the P. You’re officially _Neil’s lace_ now.”

“Ugh, I should just change the stupid name. Seems to be jinxed somehow. Wait…,” Neil squints suspiciously, pulling the wine glass back from her hands, “it wasn’t you this time, right?”

“Neil, please,” Mary calls out in a mock-gasp, “I would never break the stuff of people who give me alcohol. Craig on the other hand, he’s got it coming.” She takes a long sip of the wine. “What’ll you change the name to, then?”

“You shouldn’t,” Robert speaks up from her side, swirling ice cubes in his glass of whiskey. “Neil’s a good name.”

“Psh, don’t listen to Smalls,” Mary waves him off, “no imagination. It should rhyme.”

“What, like…” Neil takes several solid seconds to think it over. “Rob and Bob’s?”

“I _will_ kill you. With this exact knife,” Robert says, pulling a knife out of one of several pockets of his sweet leather jacket and placing it on the bar. “And then I will use this one,” another knife joins the one already on the counter, “to saw you up in pieces and scatter them all over Maple Bay, deep enough that no police dogs will ever find you.”

“So that’s a no on that name?” Neil replies, lazily motioning for Robert to pack up his arsenal again. “Guess I gotta get some more opinions.”

Neil moves down the bar to start chatting names with some of the other regulars that are here. Robert does return his knives to their rightful places and downs most of his whiskey.

“How’s Betsy?” Mary asks, trying to get some sort of conversation out of Robert. Sure, he’s a quiet guy who hates small talk, but that doesn’t mean they have to spend the entire evening drinking in silence. That’s just depressing.

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Could always ask her yourself, but I’d hate to wake her.” Robert holds open the non-knife-containing side of his leather jacket. Betsy is indeed nestled into the large inner pocket on his side, comfortably asleep against the warmth of Robert’s hip.

“That’s adorable as shit,” Mary says.

Robert nods.

“Next round’s on you,” Mary continues, signaling Neil for a refill.

Robert nods again.

One round turns into two turns into six and by the end of the night they’re basically best fucking friends. Who would have known.

 

\---

 

The recently christened _Jim and Kim’s_ is still their favourite spot, a good year later. The Regular’s Reduction helps, sure, but it is also the most decent dive bar around.

The Game is on, and Mary’s team is winning, which means Robert is buying, much to his chagrin. Betsy has since outgrown his pocket and is currently at his home, sleeping off one of the long walks which Mary makes Robert go on.

The door opens just as her team scores and in stumbles some guy stuck between looking like a total kid and an actual adult. Cute, though, Mary thinks and turns to relate the thought to Robert, who- fucking great-

“Holy shit Smalls, are you actually blushing at the mere sight of that kid?”

“Shut up,” Robert grumbles, trying and failing to pretend to focus on the game, “I saw him at the coffee shop earlier, okay.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Did you also lose all of your blood to your dick when that happened?”

Robert sinks deeper into his seat in reply, shoulders bunched up to somewhere around his ears. Holy shit, indeed.

“Alright I’m gonna do you a favour and check if he’s cool and comes at all close to deserving that blush. Laters,” Mary flips a loose salute and approaches the new guy. Behind her, Robert puts in a half-hearted effort to stop her.

“Hey, sailor. Buy a gal a drink?”


End file.
